


Hands

by MidnightDelirium



Series: Hands [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hands, M/M, Qui-Gon’s Hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26553013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightDelirium/pseuds/MidnightDelirium
Summary: Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn was an impressive man. Most would say it was his presence; tall frame, broad shoulders, and straight back that made him look like a king in the finest of fabric instead of a Jedi in simple brown attires. But for Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Jinn was defined by his hands.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Hands [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939573
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I just had an urge to talk about Qui-Gon’s hands. This is very self-indulged, so please excuse me. And forgive the grammar and poorly put together idea that formed quite late at night.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing.

Qui-Gon Jinn was an impressive man. Most would say it was his presence; tall frame, broad shoulders, and straight back that made him look like a king in the finest of fabric instead of a Jedi in simple brown attires. But for Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Jinn was defined by his hands. Strong and capable hands, so swift to defend and protect, yet equally as gentle and nurturing. Obi-Wan could still remember the first time Qui-Gon’s hands engulfed his small shoulders. They generated enough heat to warmed his whole body and made him feel like he was the most protected thirteen-year-old in the galaxy.

As a Jedi Master, Qui-Gon knew how to use words to his best advantage. He could go up against the shadiest of politicians and still come out victorious while revealing none of his distastes. Contrastingly, Qui-Gon’s hands were the most sincere part of him. They showed his most inner state of mind. A ruffle of Obi-Wan’s hair when he was feeling indulgent. A pat on the back for a job well done. A squeeze of the shoulder to commiserate. A gentle hand grasping at his upper arm to stop Obi-Wan from running headfirst into danger. And when Qui-Gon was disappointed, the hands would be hidden, like he was denying Obi-Wan the pleasure of truly seeing him as punishment. As for anger, he had only seen that directed at other, never at himself, and never for long. At the start, Qui-Gon’s hands would form into fits, squeezing and relaxing, like he was trying to squeeze an imaginary bug that would not die. Then, Qui-Gon would tuck his hands into his robe’s sleeves or clasped them behind his back.

Many things could be learn about Qui-Gon Jinn, if one knew where to look. Obi-Wan was surprised to find not many people had know this. It had only took him a year to catalogue all of those touches and movements in his mind. He thought he knew them all, from the smallest of twitch to the most expressive of spread, but there were many he was yet to learn.

It started with the return to Naboo. They battled the Sith and won. Obi-Wan took the deadly blow meant for his Master, which gave Qui-Gon the opening he needed to end the fight. Qui-Gon grabbed him after, pulling Obi-Wan’s body into his lap. He touched Obi-Wan so softy on his cheek, his fingers barely ghosting over cooling skin. Obi-Wan wanted to speak then. To tell his Master that it was alright. He needed to move on. There was another boy that needed him. Needed his love. Tell Qui-Gon to not retreat as he had done after Tahl and Xanatos’s deaths. That he had to go on for Anakin. But the words won’t come. He could not draw enough air to make more than a small whimper.

Then, like a possessed man, Qui-Gon picked him up and dashed out of the reactor room at a Force assisted run. They were at the medical bay in no time, and Obi-Wan was passed off to the healers. The last thing Obi-Wan had felt was Qui-Gon’s hand grasping tightly onto his own. And at that moment, Obi-Wan felt so grounded. He knew then that he will never leave his Master’s side willingly, that he would forever fight to come back. He had only ever thought of Qui-Gon as his lifeline, but he finally acknowledged that he was also Qui-Gon’s. 

The next time he woke, the healers informed him the strike that would have cut clean through his Master‘s heart had only nicked one of his lungs, a damaged they had repaired, and after a relatively short recovery period, he would be back to normal. After the report, they allowed him to receive visitors. Padme and Anakin came in, his Master at their heels. Qui-Gon stood apart from them for the whole visit, his hands grasping at the opposite bicep, squeezing and relaxing, then repeat, not uttering a single sound. Obi-Wan had never seen these movements before. Was Qui-Gon angry at him? Disappointed? He did not have much time to contemplate as Anakin was happily chatting along and demanding his attention.

This went on until Padme saw his flagging energy and herded Anakin out of the room. They were barely out before Qui-Gon moved. He strode to Obi-Wan’s bed, stopped, and stared at him intensely. His hands were at his side. Fingers squeezing into fits, then opened, then his thumbs were rubbing against the respective index fingers. Obi-Wan did not know what to say. He can’t read his Master. Can’t read what his hands were doing. But at long last, Qui-Gon moved to sit down on the bed, next to Obi-Wan’s hip. He shifted his eyes to look up at his Master’s face.

And he understood.

Like a switch was flipped, they moved in unison. Lips met. Hands grasping desperately to each other face. Their teeth clacked together. Obi-Wan could taste copper. He was not sure if his lips got split, but he was too distracted by Qui-Gon's lips to pay more attention. Those lips moved against him, their tongues dancing together—forward and back, to the side, then spin, like the most exquisite of waltz.

And Qui-Gon’s hands. So firmly set on his face. Not too tight to make him feel claustrophobic, but just right—even pressure, fingers lightly curled to tugged at his hair. And their warmth. Obi-Wan felt like he was being consumed by the hottest of fire. Too soon, breathing became necessary again, and Obi-Wan cursed at the impracticality of the human body design. They broke apart slowly, only far enough for their mouths to draw in air but still close enough to share the same breath.

“Hi,” Obi-Wan muttered. He can feel Qui-Gon shook again him, then the gentlest chuckle passed those beautiful lips.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied, just as breathless. “I’ve missed you.” Qui-Gon’s thumb rubbed at his cheek, just slightly below his mole. Obi-Wan turned his face into the contact.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, still basking in Qui-God’s touch.

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

Qui-Gon pulled his face forward for another kiss. They could talk later. To discuss what this was, but nothing was more important than feeling Qui-Gon’s lips back on his, and his face so safely encased in those wonderful hands.


End file.
